The Dragon and the Wolf
by Pheather McKelle
Summary: How does a broken-legged, starving wolf help save Rick and his group from the Governor? (Yes, this is a different take on my old story, the Dragon and the Wolf) Rated M for violence and Dixon mouth.
1. The Wolf

**For everyone who remembers The Dragon and the Wolf, I had to take it down because I was unhappy with the way the story was turning out. This is my new take on the old story, but it's a bit longer starting out. Hope you guys like it!**

It was a balmy, hot day in rural Georgia. Inside the prison, temperatures skyrocketed to unbearable conditions. The inhabitants chanced the outdoors to get a respite, however feeble, from the incessant heat. Cicadas shrieked in the trees, crickets chirped in the long grasses, and birds whistled hoarsely in the shimmering heat.

The day was winding down but felt as though it had gone on forever. The warm breeze that blew in from the south made one feel as though one was being cooked in a big oven. Air shimmered on the horizon, the sun still a few hours away from setting.

The morning had been uneventful. No walkers, no intrusions, no stray people. Everything was almost dull, or as dull as things could get in a zombie apocalypse. There was still laundry to do, food to be cooked, beds to be straightened out, and accuracy to be perfected. The group was doing fairly well on food at the moment so Daryl Dixon really had no excuse for going outside other then to escape the stifling stuffiness of the cellblock.

Dried grasses and leaves from overhanging branches crunched under his feet as he stalked the perimeter of the fence. One side was lined with live oaks, maples, and beech trees, with a few peach interspersed. No doubt there had been a small orchard at one time. As he walked along a little further, the trees thinned and there was a large field that separated the prison from the forest.

Sitting in the shade of a maple, Daryl took a strip of dried meat from his pocket and thoughtfully chewed on it. Though it was practically flavorless, it gave him something to do to keep from getting bored, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be doing woman's work.

Daryl cast about with wary eyes before deciding it was safe to unstrap the crossbow that hung on his back. Like a father with a child, he set it down carefully, propping it up on the fence where he could reach if trouble arose.

Settling down in the grass, he leaned against the chain link fence, quietly listening to nature. It wasn't hunting, but it was as close to Zen time as he was likely to find nowadays. The shade, at least, was refreshing, and by the time he finished his strip of meat he had considerably more energy.

A bark and a growl jolted Daryl back into life.

Shooting to his feet, he grabbed his crossbow and aimed at the other end of the field. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then the undergrowth parted to reveal an irregularly bobbing black smudge. Three other figures followed the smudge: walkers.

As the smudge came closer, Daryl could tell it was a wolf. The front right leg was broken and wobbling sickeningly on previous hinges. It was completely useless and the wolf hobbled foreword, its lips parted in a snarl, ears laid flat back, white teeth showing, red tongue panting from exhaustion.

The wolf, though going at a limping trot, was still outrunning its undead pursuers, but at this rate, it would run out of energy. It looked as though the wolf had been running for quite some time.

Turning to face the nearest walker, the wolf leaped and landed on its face, tearing at its skull and eventually gnawing through to the brain. The walker shuttered and died.

In the time it took for the one walker to be killed, the two others caught up. The wolf desperately tried to leap off the body but tripped and tumbled into the grass. It growled and tried to get up, staggering to its feet, hindered by the broken appendage, and finally stood, trotting away.

As the wolf got closer, Daryl saw that it was a she-wolf, her fur unkempt and dirty. Blood, new and old, crusted her battle-scarred muzzle. She was pitifully thin, her ribs showed and her legs were like matchsticks. Her blue eyes were hollow in their sockets and life flickered dully in their depths.

The she-wolf caught sight of Daryl and her ears pinned to her head, though her eyes showed… Relief? Hope? Longing? The wolf averted her eyes and continued plodding along, increasing her pace when one walker lurched towards her. It's scabby fingernails scraped her side and the wolf snarled.

Tucking her leg closer to her chest, the wolf was almost to the gate when she tripped on a rock and tumbled to the ground, collapsing like a pile of matted black fur and bones. Daryl bit his lip.

The walkers closed in on the wolf. She shifted her head and gazed at Daryl with piercing blue eyes. Her expression was blank, but even Daryl's stone-cold heart was moved, just a little bit…

Seeing help was not coming, the wolf blinked slowly and adjusted her position, trying to get comfortable. The walkers bore down on her and her ears flicked back, her upper lip trembling. A low growl rose in her throat, but she made no move to get up. She was too hungry, too thirsty, and too tired. Bracing herself, the wolf tensed as the walker bent to take a huge bite.

Suddenly, the walker gurgled and collapsed to the side, an arrow sticking out of its skull. The wolf looked surprised at the rotting corpse by her side. A renewed vigor filled her veins and she struggled to her feet, attempting to ignore her pain, but the head and thirst were taking their toll, and she fell again, panting.

The second walker didn't hesitate and staggered foreword, growling. That one went down just as quickly. The wolf somehow got to her feet, but she was wobbly and unsteady.

Daryl sprinted to the gate, unfastening the bolt, but the wolf was hopping away to the forest.

"Hey, wait!" he called. The wolf stopped in indecision, but snarled and continued hopping away. Daryl stood where he was and watched the wolf disappear into the forest.

**Please drop a review and a favorite, they're much appreciated!**


	2. Found

**Thank you guys so much for the review! Make sure to drop one when you read this chapter, I was a little nervous because I was worried it would turn into the same thing I had before, and I didn't want the awkward confrontation that I had last time. Thanks!**

The next day was just as much a scorcher. The thick air heralded a massive thunderstorm, or so thought Daryl as he patrolled the fence. Though he had been at it for hours, he had seen no sign of the wolf.

_She's probably dead_, he thought, kicking a stone. _Or eaten_. The loose stone clattered down the small trail he had made himself from incessant guarding, and rolled between the chain link fences.

And there was the wolf.

Daryl was startled and raised his crossbow. The wolf had been sitting there, though how long Daryl didn't know. Her face was expressionless, her blue eyes piercing. Her leg was still broken and at an odd angle to her body. She still looked starving, though she must have found a stream to quench her thirst. Daryl knew that with a limp like that, the wolf was unlikely to catch anything.

"Hey." He said, hoping the wolf would cooperate. She stood and limped back into the forest.

Throughout the rest of the day, Daryl thought he caught glimpses of the wolf wandering through the trees or along the edge of the field, wary of humans. Daryl kept a close watch on the grounds. He couldn't explain it, but the wolf made him feel uneasy. Maybe it was her eyes. Blue eyes and black wolves were rare enough. Maybe it was that she seemed so human. The way she looked at him, how she acted. It wasn't exactly a wolf, but it wasn't all human either. The look she gave him right before walkers attacked her was frightening enough. It was like she was staring into his soul. Daryl's more practical side told him that wolves were dangerous, especially to kids who never stayed put. He scowled as he thought of Carl. The kid managed to get himself into trouble daily doing stupid things he knew were stupid. _What can you expect from a son of that dumb bitch_? He thought bitterly. With a starving wolf running around, anything was fair game, especially an unsuspecting human child just within reach. When brought up at lunch, Rick reacted just as Daryl predicted he might.

"A wolf?" he asked, suddenly alert.

"Big black 'un. Pro'ly 'bout as tall as m' hip." Daryl said, trying to soothe the heat-angered sheriff. "She was starvin', last time I checked, she's pro'ly gonna drop dead in less then a day." He assured. Rick glanced down at his food.

"When did you see it?" asked the leader.

"'Bout yesterday afternoon when I was patrollin'." Daryl replied.

"Did anyone else see a wolf?" Rick asked the assembled group. The group remained silent.

"Well, I'll go out with you tomorrow and track it down." Rick volunteered.

"She." Corrected Daryl.

"What?"

"Nothin'." Daryl said sheepishly, shoveling the rest of his food into his mouth, picking up his crossbow, and heading for the door. "I'll take care of her m'self." And that was that.

The rest of the afternoon proved to be a fruitless search for the black wolf. At one point Rick came out and conversed with Daryl, but they didn't do much more other then to agree that a starving wolf posed a threat to the group, should they ever go on a hunting foray and it was hungry enough to attack a human. Heat eventually drove Rick inside and Daryl to the shade of the oak he was under the previous day. It was mid-afternoon and the forest had come to a standstill. The birds retreated to the shade of the trees, chirping unenthusiastically from time to time. Bugs had stopped moving and took refuge on the cool undersides of rocks. Evaporating moisture from the ground only caused more discomfort. _Yep_, thought Daryl, _a storm is definitely comin'_. The day passed in melancholy quiet. The grass browned under the hot sun, which seemed to take forever to march across the sky. No sign of the black wolf.

The horizon was just beginning to be streaked with the pinks and oranges of a sunset. The night animals took notice and stirred in their burrows. The forest became darker and darker. Fireflies danced in the shadows, their light looked like reflections from animal's eyes and set Daryl on edge. No sign of the black wolf.

The last dregs of sunset were visible. Dark, low clouds gathered from the north, and lightning flickered in their depths. Bats swooped low and spastically, hunting mosquitoes and other insects. Cries of night birds heralded the coming darkness. And there, at the very edge of the forest, was the wolf. Starting, Daryl raised his crossbow, but the long hot day had dulled his reflexes and he hesitated. He cursed himself for being so lazy and wandered closer to the fence.

The wolf seemed be by lying down in the shade of the trees. Or was she? Opening the gate cautiously, Daryl crept foreword, wary of the woods and any hidden walkers it might contain. Secretly, he was a little sad that she was dead, but he had no idea why. Approaching the body, he became increasingly confused. It was the same wolf all right. She appeared thinner. The blood crusting her muzzle was the same blood he had seen on her before and indicated that she had not been eating or taking good care of herself. Her leg was just as twisted, swollen, and mangled. There was one thing new, or at least he hadn't seen it before – a grazed gunshot wound along her ribs – which were moving! The wolf wasn't dead, but very weak. She wouldn't survive.

Making a snap decision, he scooped the wolf in his arms. Despite her size, which was bigger than any wolf Daryl had ever seen, her lack of body mass made her light enough to carry the short distance to the prison. Glenn was there to open the door. When he saw the wolf he whooped.

"Nice shot!" he exclaimed.

"She a'int dead." Daryl growled. "Not yet at least."

"You didn't kill it?" he asked, tagging along after him, worry plain in his eyes. Daryl remained mute. Bursting into the prison, most of the inhabitants were a little shocked to find Daryl carrying a massive black wolf.

"You finally killed it?" asked Carl with big eyes, in awe.

"Not much meat on it." Rick observed, the ribs sticking out through the long, coarse matted fur.

"She a'int dead! Don't you people know nothin'?" he snapped. They retreated from the wolf in the knowledge that it was still alive and stared horror-struck. "HERSHEL!"

"Daryl, what is this?" he asked in as calming a voice as he could muster. He sensed that Daryl was stressed, but whether the wolf or the heat was the cause, he was unsure. Daryl strode over to Hershel's cell and plopped the wolf on his cot. He wrinkled his nose at the dirt and crusty blood.

"Fix her." He demanded, a slight child-like tone hidden beneath raspy cords of his thick southern accent. Hershel wondered whether Daryl had lost his mind but decided not to complain when he saw the look on his face.

"She's awfully thin. Wouldn't be surprised if she didn't make it." Daryl bit his lip. "And this leg is darn near swollen to hell. It's broken all right." He grimaced. "I'll see what I can do." And with a reassuring smile and pat on the arm, the one-legged old man disappeared into his cell.


End file.
